Of Trenched Wars
by kopycat101
Summary: It's World War One, and Arthur is joining his men in fighting the opposition, leading them as their Brigadier-General. He writes a letter home to his 'sister', describing trench warfare and the gritty environment of the trenches. He's frustrated at how terrible the conditions are, and is concerned for those that aren't like him. [Not AU, Oneshot]


**AN**: Okay, so in my American History class, we've just started a unit on WWI. I was pretty excited about this, because of the personified nations of Hetalia, and I _really_ find big wars in general interesting, so I jumped into the new section with gusto.

It turns out that one of the assignments is to pretend to be a soldier that's going through trench warfare and write a letter home describing how it is in the trenches. I wrote out this fic/letter, and cut it down to size to send to my teacher.

This version is the long, complete one that heavily hints of Arthur's status as a nation, as well as some of the others. There are mentions of nyo/genderbent nations, too; hell, Alice is fem!England!

If you know your history, I think you'll like this. If not, enjoy the info from cranky Mr. Kirkland's point of view!

* * *

Dear Alice,

I have three words that sum up my feelings right now: Damn this war. It's tedious, and the conditions of our battles and housing are disgusting—no, downright **barbaric**.

The only positive thing of this whole ordeal seems to be the fact that I've been promoted to Brigadier-General, but that gives me little comfort these days. Being a higher rank may get you certain privileges, but with shortages and restrictions on food and housing, it doesn't get you much in the grand scheme of things. Not even the rations are of better quality than those of the simple soldiers.

I think that the trench food in general **barely** passes on being edible. The canned items have little taste and the soups are watered down and made with questionable ingredients. The floured bread biscuits are hard as rocks, and I'm sure that if we used a crossbow to shoot them at the enemy, we'd take a few down, and then most likely scare the lot of them from the ludicrousy of it all and win our battle.

Catapulting war-meal flour biscuits over our walls to the other holding could, in fact, win the war, at the slow crawl that we're going. Neither side of a trench battle can really advance, as the trenches are set, and we have to battle until one side gives up. We're stagnantly sitting in one place. Any tactic involving moving in on the enemy is suicide, as being out in the middle of no mans land will make you a blaring, easy target across the flat expanse riddled with corpses.

Thankfully, we are able to have a spot of tea at teatime, and for that, I'm incredibly grateful. If you shovel down your rations and then take a cuppa, the bitterness of the drink will help hide the taste of the disgusting, rough 'food'.

Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if there was a shortage of flour and we had to resort to other means of gaining things to make bread, for how much of it we consume. Flour biscuits are the main staple of trench food and rations, so flour will run out sooner or later. Hopefully later, as I don't want to eat something like ground turnips just _yet_. As a last result, yes, of course, but I don't want to eat any more vile slop than I have to.

I…I'm just tired of these damn conflicts always breaking out, Alice. I wish I could live normally, without all these stomach-churning developments.

I wish we could **all** live normally. Each of us must have such heavy burdens…However, I know it is just a dream, with what we are. I know that we can't change.

It's impossible, really, for us to truly blend in with normal society. We are what we are, there's no changing it, or us; however, playing the role of one passable face in thousands has never gotten us much of anywhere, has it? We'll always live with it all…

It's quite frightening how insignificant people are. In wars, they are merely a number. If we weren't what we were, we'd all be just a number—a nameless face—among them. We wouldn't just have brushes with death, we'd be reaped by him and taken away from the world.

I know I cannot die—with how resistant my body is, how phenomenally fast it heals, and how many scrapes I've come out alive of miraculously without much more than a non-fatal gun wound. I **know** I could survive this, as I've survived countless struggles before, but…I'm still afraid.

I'm afraid of seeing too many good men—**my** men—die.

More often than not, I see them die of disease than anything else. These damn trenches are like a two-edged sword. They help protect us from rifles, machine guns, and flamethrowers and the like; however, they are full of filth and disease that can easily ensnare us.

The trenches, when first dug, are relatively clean and livable. When battles reign is when filth accumulates. Blood from the wounded is scattered everywhere, dead bodies start piling up in the corner, and then it gets worse. Flies and rats and lice invade, and since we are stuck in these dugouts, we can't get enough clean water to really be able to bathe in.

With hygiene so low, disease spreads like wildfire, the pests helping make our lives more miserable than before; the lice vicious to our bodies, and the rats threatening to consume everything we have. Then, when it rains, the place is filled with mud, mixing in all the debris from the battle. Soon enough, the smell is unbearable, with all the rotten things sitting like a pot of severely spoiled soup.

The bacteria from all the filth can easily seep in wounds, infecting them. Infection is another major cause of casualties. No matter if you get a light hit in the shoulder by a round or just a damn nick from your own knife by accident if you try to open something, all if it has the possibility of getting infected and killing you. Our medical supplies aren't advanced enough to help stop it, and everything is dirty and contaminated, so it doesn't help protect the wounds from contamins.

And then the environment is so bad that men gain diseases like trench foot or gangrene. The smell and sight of festering flesh is more common than I'd ever imagined during warfare.

I feel terrible for those that go into no man's land to get the deceased and wounded cleared away. Being in close quarters with men with twisted or decomposing flesh is enough, I don't even want to **ponder** what it feels like to have to grab onto them and haul them away...

I pity poor Basch and Vashti. They're helping lead the newly formed Red Cross movement, and as such, are coming up in battles and clearing the dead from no man's land during our short 'collecting' truces. The Red Cross' job is to get the dying out of the field, and bring in wounded to the clinical spaces.

These truces are looked down upon by some other commanders, as they think something idiotic along the lines of it being too humane to allow the other side to collect their dead and dying.

It makes the collector and healer's job harder if they don't allow a truce, and those that are heading down the road to dying are certain to be deceased if it happens. It's not uncommon, actually, to see flies and maggots sticking around the wounds, or rats the size of cats going out to tear the flesh of the heavily wounded.

And, since Basch and Vashti** are doing it out of concern and don't really have to be there, it angers me immensely when the other idiot commanders tell the soldiers to try to smother the efforts. I fight along with the Red Cross representatives to allow the truce if they're stubborn, so that they can do their damn job and service to humanity, 'undeserving mercy' be damned.

Some that are brought in to the makeshift clinics are minor casualties and some are fatal, a number of factors contributing to their possible lifespan. If they've been out on the field for a long amount of time and their skin begins to rot is definitely a bad sign. If they're extremely weak and pallid and are losing a steady amount of blood, they've lost too much blood and can't be saved.

If they've gotten infected, inflamed injuries that look gruesome and are in places that almost caused a direct kill, well…They're done for. It'll be another body for the piles around the mucky, sickening place we must be in until one side ceases the fight.

It's **not** pretty, Alice. It's disgusting, and I hate it. I **hate** the damn trenches and the damn war.

The only thing that's somewhat positive in the battles so far is the fact that no one has used poison gas on our specific trench. We don't have enough gas masks for everyone, and I'd get terribly cross and sentimental if I had to choose who of my men would get to live or die if such a thing occurred.

And perhaps that a bombing hasn't occurred is a good sign as well. You never know with those devilish bastards.

…I just hope that our friends are doing well. I haven't seen them out here on the battlefield yet, which I will take as a good sign, for now.

And, what of the others? Are you ladies doing well? I truly hope that you won't and come down with something over this, over all the worry and uncertainty. I don't think I would forgive myself for it, even if such befell Felicia, Rodina, and Louise*. They deserve happiness as well, even if their brothers are being a bit…idiotic right now for readily joining the war effort.

I truly want to believe that it would not be their fault if they've joined this war and are fighting. I truly do, Alice. However, I will still be a bitter old coot, whether or not they willingly wanted to fight.

Yes, I know. They can't help being called to arms, to help lead their people to possible victory. It's a reason why I'm helping lead the battles right now, even if I could spend my time better organizing things. I have experience under my belt and too lack of importance here, although with my position, it's understandable…

And rising too quickly up the ranks, just for this specific war, would be a bit suspicious, no?

…Ha, I actually snort at the thought of Francis or Feliciano actively fighting in the trenches, being regular soldiers. They're of the cowardly sort, and like avoiding conflict when necessary, unless they're on the winning side. Right about now, both sides are equal in this battle, so who knows of the outcome…

Sooner or later, however, I fear that they'll be on the battlefield, fighting. They're too young—yes, no matter what anyone else might say, they're all relatively young and naïve when it comes to conflicts, in my opinion—for a war of this scale. And to see all this death and decay surrounding them in the dugouts… It's a bit too much to take in, even for **me**, and I'm Arthur bloody Kirkland!

Really, I just want to forget this all and come home. I've been in this war long enough.

I don't **care** of the outcome; I want all of us to be all right.

I just want us to live, without this war looming over us. It feels like the _whole world_ is fighting.

…Oh, such a silly thought. However, I think I will, in fact, agree with my subconscious on this…

This is big, Alice. It's the first war of the world for our people. For **all** of our people.

I still would rather that none of us had to get so involved. In the old days, sure, no one would notice us and it wasn't so gruesome. But right now?

Right now, it's a whole different story. And it will only get worse from here on out.

Well, I must go now to lead them. They need to survive this battle, and I will help them do it, even if my cover is blown.

(Don't you worry; I shan't do anything tactless and overly foolish.)

Love,

Your brother, Arthur Kirkland

_—Of the UK/Britain/England/Great Britain_***

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*_Felicia, Rodina, and Louise_: All female versions of the names Feliciano, Roderich, and Ludwig. AKA: the fem versions of Italy, Austria, and Germany

**_Basch and Vashti_: Basch is the original spelling that Himaruya gave for Switzerland's human name, but most people just use Vash instead. I tried in vein to find a female version of Basch to use for fem!Switz, but couldn't find one. I used Vashti, which is a female version of Vash.

***I'd think that Arthur would sign his things with what nation he is, except that this could get in the wrong hands, so he did something else. He added all his titles/names of the nation he represents, but put that he's from those places.


End file.
